


Puppeteer Tremblings

by ab2fsycho



Series: The Candle Cult [16]
Category: The Candle Cult (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Don't question me - Freeform, Multi, a bit of retconning, a little mayhem, i am not to be questioned, if i can make bug sex sound good i can make retconning good, she blinded me with science, the creepers have arrived
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 17:12:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7582750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ab2fsycho/pseuds/ab2fsycho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tea's Puppeteer saga continues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Old Accord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tea had a deal with a beast named Nu. One he doesn't recall.

“You’re a sorry one now, ain’t ya?” Tea continued past the talking ferret. He’d seen stranger beasts, had cared for them and trained them. He was also forbidden to speak with them, even if they belonged to someone. So he kept walking, eyes cast down and mouth hidden by the collar. “Excuse me. Hey.” He heard the creature drop from its spot on the hand railing, the click of its claws against the floor sounding as it followed him. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you. You got a minute?”

Tea rolled his eyes, slowed to a halt, then sighed. Shifting the books in his arm, the gloves rubbed against the tips of his claws. By now, he was used to the bending of his talons to the leather as well as the suffocation of the heavy trench coat. The words rolled off his tongue in an easily rehearsed tone, “I’m very busy and I’m unable to speak at this moment. I’m sorry.”

“No one’s here right now. It’s just you and me.” Tea didn’t turn to look at the ferret. He stared straight ahead at the corner. “I’ve checked. You can speak with me with no fear of reprimand.” That made Tea bristle. This must be a trap of some sort.

Body now stiff, Tea ground his teeth and felt them cut into his gums. “Liam is expecting me soon. He wants the completed report of the latest expedition. I shouldn’t keep him waiting.” And so he continued walking.

Liam didn’t like being kept waiting, and he didn’t like Tea conversing with other beasts.

“Then listen very carefully, Rowan Alder Alexander Creek-Sverre.” Tea froze. His eyes widened and . . . he couldn’t move. He couldn’t move an inch. “My associate and Master knew some of your kin as a Toy. That is, before you were the last. He managed to find the one thing your Master could not: your full name.” The ferret came to sit in front of Tea, looking up and making eye contact with him. Tea felt a tremor of something he rarely ever felt outside of the room with Lance or Liam: fear. “My associate pays attention like that. Which is why,” the ferret reached up to scratch its—her—ear, “we would very much like to make a deal with you?”

Tea struggled, shuddering at the horrible urge he had to crush the creature for making him feel subordinate. A human could make him feel subordinate, but a beast? He felt . . . .

Violated.

And wrong.

“What do you want?” he uttered through his collar, closing his eyes against his desire to run. If anyone heard this, he would be . . . in trouble. Not killed.

He wasn’t that lucky.

“You see, Rowan,” the ferret proceeded to crawl up his pants leg, speaking as she went, “my associate is rather displeased with the way things are being run around here. You Master . . . he is careless and unoriginal. His time is drawing to a close.” The ferret came to rest on his shoulder, body curled around his collar (which Tea was suddenly grateful for as he did not like his neck touched). “Who better to ask for help than the beast whose family Liam Evermine destroyed?” Tea stared straight ahead, expression dead and thoughts scattered. “If you help us, we will guarantee you your freedom.” Her tail tickled his ear and Tea closed his eyes against the shudder that almost wracked him. “We just need you to tell us how to defeat him.”

The offer was too good to be true.

After so many attempts to escape . . . .

Tea shook his head. “Much as I would like to believe you, I can’t.” He moved to brush the ferret off his shoulder, but she was already climbing down his back. “Tell your associate I appreciate the offer . . . but there is no way I can help at this time.” He had a new assignment to tend to. A new assignment that . . . he got the feeling would be his last. “Perhaps someone else can help you with your revolt.” He’d seen enough failed revolts to know he should take no part.

“Fair enough I suppose.” The ferret dipped into his pocket, and he heard a rustling of paper as she slid in and out quickly. “Should you change your mind at any time,” she proceeded to climb down his other leg, “and I mean anytime, give us a call.” He stood stock still as he listened to her scurry away. “Any info would help, Rowan. Any at all.”

As she left him, he continued to stand. In his pocket, he later found a scribbled telephone number and a name: Nu. Memorizing the number, he destroyed the paper before anyone could find it. He doubted that he would ever use it.

Until three years later . . . .

He dialed and heard Nu’s voice commanding him to speak. “It’s Rowan,” he murmured.

She recognized him immediately. “Long time no speak. Ready to earn your freedom?”

“Not mine.” He was more interested in the freedom of . . . his family. He had a family now. “Your associate should know Liam and Lance have attacked the Candle Cult. If your men are here, call them back to base. Things are going to go sour in ways I can’t explain—”

“Sounds like someone grew a set. I’m strangely proud of you, boy.”

Tea shook his head. “Don’t be. And don’t call me that.”

“What else should we know?”

“Anyone who escapes here after tomorrow night is a loyalist.” And he proceeded to tell Nu exactly how to take them down.

Nu . . . was pleased. From what he could tell, she was pleased.

And her parting words were, “I hope you live to see your freedom, Rowan.”

A month later, he had . . . but he had not recalled that conversation.

It was part of a stream of memories he couldn’t remember after being snuffed out by Tapi.


	2. Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tea returns to reality, emotions still scattered but present once again.

Lola had found him asleep in her bed. Though he was void of emotion, she was determined not to let him see her upset at his decision to drain and recuperate. She spent her time taking his shifts, keeping him at rest, and giving him tea that helped him sleep. She curled up with him at night and begged the bugs (who made her twitchy still) to keep him in bed while she worked. She left her room with the butterfly and earwig sprawled across Tea like Great Danes.

When alone, she let herself cry over the friend she wanted back more than anything.

The friends she wanted back.

It had been two weeks. Maybe three. It had almost been a month since she had pulled Tea and Sasha apart in the Candle Shop. She had just gotten used to the blank stare Tea gave her the times he woke and demanded warmth. Stepping into the room after a long shift, she saw that the Phobias weren’t present and Tea was sitting up. Out of habit, she uttered, “You should be sleeping.”

He didn’t respond.

Tea without emotion . . . was still responsive.

Rubbing her tired eyes, she stared at his face a bit longer this time. That’s when she saw . . . the first flicker of feeling.

There were tears in Tea’s eyes and a quivering in his lip. Before she could say anything, he whispered, “Hey.”

“Hey.” Was it too much to hope for that his emotions had returned? “H-how are you feeling?”

Tea was quiet and her heart sank. But then . . ., “Tired . . . hurting . . . but,” he swiped at his eyes, “I think . . . I’ll be fine.” He looked up at her . . . .

And it was him.

Her Tea.

Lola went from standing rigid to practically hopping across her bed at him. She wrapped around him completely, arms and legs holding onto him with all the strength she had left from a long, hard day. When he held back tight, not just attempting to pull warmth from her, she mumbled into his shoulder while shivering with relief, “I missed you.”

He squeezed her, fingers buried in her hair as he whispered back, “Me too.”

With her own tears, she pulled back and placed a kiss on his lips. He kissed back.

They clung to each other fiercely as she caught him up on everything that was going on back in town.


	3. Reconciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aren and Tea have similar experiences, but they also have some rather important differences.

It had been so long since the actual death of Francis Bellamy, but Aren still woke up sweating and panting. This time he woke up in someone’s arms. Not the arms of his former master, no. No, he would never dare to wake up in this manner and not clamp his mouth shut immediately. There was a silence that usually followed facing the man he feared most.

But the man he feared most was dead. He’d seen him die.

And the arms circling him were that of Tea. His sunflower.

They both leaned against Amaya’s side, tugging the blankets up over themselves once again as the centaur’s deep breaths rocked them gently and helped Aren slow his breathing. Tea rubbed his arms gently, curling them tight around him. “Him again?” the giant asked. Aren nodded. “Remember.” He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Aren already knew what he was trying to tell him.

Bellamy was gone.

No one was coming to harm him anymore.

He needn’t answer to anyone but his family. And even they did not demand answers of him. He answered them out of pure desire to.

But still, Aren couldn’t quell the shaking in his hands. He stared down at them, letting out a stuttered breath that made Amaya’s deep ones seem impossibly long and drawn out. “Rowan?”

“Yeah?”

“How long . . . will I . . . ?” he stopped, unsure if he could proceed with the question.

But Tea seemed to know what he was asking already. “Liam is still alive.” Aren looked up at him in confusion. No. No, that wasn’t right. Was it? “In my head he is. His heart still beats in a way.” Aren’s brow continued to furrow. “But . . . that’s because . . . I didn’t get to see him die. I don’t have that memory to ground me.” He tapped Aren on the nose with his index claw. “You do. And as . . . gruesome as it was, you have to hold onto that memory. Okay?”

Though he thought he knew the answer, he asked, “Why?” anyway.

Tea held Aren tighter, nestling over and around him and encompassing him in the giant’s warmth. “So you’ll have evidence to hold onto. When the days are bad. And the nights are worse.” He kissed the top of Aren’s head. “It’ll remind you where you are now.”

Aren hummed, thinking about that for a moment. He supposed that was true. That didn’t necessarily mean it made sense. After all, “What reminds you?” He realized the foolishness of his question when one of Tea’s fingertips moved to brush over the black scars on his forearm. “Oh. Oh, I’m,” Aren flushed, embarrassed that he had forgotten that. “I’m sorry. I—”

“Shhh,” Tea shushed, reaching up to grasp Aren’s chin. He turned the shade walker’s head towards him and pressed a light, brief kiss to his lips. The comfort that seeped in through the touch was instantly effective. Aren sank helplessly into the larger cultist’s embrace and hummed again. “It’s hard remembering a time when I didn’t have them either.”

Somehow that disheartened Aren further. “But Ro—”

“Raz,” Tea stopped him, and he listened intently, “you don’t need to apologize for that. You didn’t do it. Understand?” Though he wanted to protest and apologize anyway, Aren closed his lips and nodded curtly. “They don’t hurt as much as they used to,” he declared, brushing his fingertips over his scars lightly. He sighed, then admitted, “Thanks to you. And the people who love me.”

Aren snuggled deeper into Tea’s chest, blinking and considering what the other had said. He was warmed, thinking that he had helped Tea through the self-consciousness that came with having a scarred body, significantly one as mottled as Tea’s. He had his own scars he didn’t dare think about.

It was then that he picked up on something Tea hadn’t said. Something the other really should know as well. “The people who love you,” he began, searching for the words carefully, “they keep you grounded too. Right?”

Tea was slow to respond. Slower than was typical of the giant. Then he nodded slowly against Aren’s head, and Aren recalled that Tea himself was still mourning someone. He felt a semblance of guilt, but this time he didn’t really want to apologize. He didn’t feel the need to. As Tea had said, it wasn’t his doing.

But Tea failed to realize that though he’d lost one person he had loved, he still had so many others here for him.

Aren twisted in the skinwalker’s hold, cupping his face and planting a deep and loving kiss on his lips. Tea received it gratefully, and Aren could barely, just barely, feel the giant accept his affection through the touch. Pulling back, Aren whispered the man’s name. “Yes Raz?”

“We love you.” He spoke on behalf of himself, Amaya, Aiden, everyone he knew to love and desire Tea within the cult. The cult that had become their home and family. The cult they were determined to protect.

Tea’s smile was small, but the tears gathering in his eyes spoke volumes. “I love you too.” And though he knew the statement was addressed to everyone, Aren still felt it as though he were saying it just to him. As if to emphasize that he did love Aren individually as well, Tea reiterated, “I love you Raz.”

To which Aren responded, “I love you too, Rowan.”

Relaxing against the still sleeping Amaya, they clung to each other the rest of the night. They both still had a long way to go, and in the back of his mind Aren knew it was impossible to recover everything that had been lost. At least now though, it was possible to recover the most important things.


	4. Throw Him Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ruthless Pirate Queen of the African Chapter.

The canons were still hot from the desolation of another enemy ship on the Atlantic. Once filled with holes and already sinking, Levi had encircled the ship with his body and pulled it down swifter. He then slowly picked off the survivors.

Red flags flew overhead, a warning to all who opposed her that she took no prisoners. She showed no mercy, and she would spare no lives. “Don’t fuck with me,” was the message written on her face each time she was challenged. She could smile. Oh, she could smile. Like the ship she captained, she was born of the softness of wood and modified with the strength of steel. A smile was just as deadly as a cutlass and pistol when it belonged to the Pirate Queen of the African Puppeteers. The courtesy she paid her enemies was the same courtesy she gave her crewmates, one of whom had done the one thing he should never, ever do.

He had fucked with her.

“Caught him stealing, boss,” Zolten declared after brutally throwing the man down on the deck. There had been a snap, the shipmate cradling his arm and howling seconds after regaining his breath. Zolten took his place in the crow’s nest, the thunderbird spreading his wings the length of the ship from the captain’s quarters to the tip of the bowsprit. His keen ears had heard the shipmate moving while everyone else had been asleep and his keener eyes had witnessed him trying to hide the fact he was in the wrong.

The whole crew was awake now and they were most certainly not pleased.

Ashanti’s intense glare tunneled on the man with the broken arm. As Zolten watched overhead, it seemed everyone was already unanimously angry at the one they’d gathered to scorn. Evidence of his betrayal lay strewn across the deck. Food, gold, items meant to be shared by the crew and not hoarded by one greedy, selfish, incompetent bastard. Yes, Ashanti knew this particular shipmate. He’d come aboard thinking he was going to find fortune, had seemed put off when told he had to work for it just like everyone else. He was not a Puppeteer. She did still have non Puppeteers on her ship when it suited her, and those who were Puppeteers were her most loyal members. This one . . . .

Oh he had to go.

“Alright men?” she addressed her crew loudly. They perked up. “We’ve all lied, stolen, and killed before.” There was a hushed response throughout the crew, a quiet agreement that this was true. “Some of us even like it.” The response was louder, again in agreement. “We get what we want, right?”

“Yeah,” they responded, some in unison while other voices trailed after.

“We all worked hard to get what we wanted, right?”

“Yeah!” they cried simultaneously.

“And we didn’t cheat each other to do it, did we?”

“No!” They were getting louder, more riled up.

“We’re all cheaters, but we don’t cheat each other, do we?”

“NO!”

It was then that the grin that speared through enemy ships appeared on her face. The traitor finally looked up, and on his face was a terror she had seen many, many times over. “And what do we call those who cheat us?”

“TRAITOR!”

The grin spread. Those scared eyes widened. “And what do we do with traitors?!”

“THROW THEM OVER!”

“WE DO WHAT?!”

“THROW THEM OVER!”

“I DON’T THINK I HEARD YOU!”

“THROW HIM OVER!” The man scrambled, tears in his eyes and arm dangling limp. “THROW HIM OVER!” She stomped towards him, her own gaze crazed and savage as she struck out with one palm and grasped his shirt collar. “THROW HIM OVER!” She lifted him effortlessly, his feet dangling as she started towards the rail. “THROW HIM OVER!” His back hit the side of the ship hard and he cried out.

At least he was smart enough not to beg.

Either that or he just couldn’t speak.

“Well,” Ashanti quirked an eyebrow and bellowed over the still chanting crew, “you heard them!”

With that, she shoved the traitor overboard. Watching him fall, she waited until he hit the water and Levi started to circle before sending the crew back to get their much needed rest.


	5. Thoughts of an Egyptian Demigod

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pharaoh doesn't like his time wasted.

Imbeciles. Peasants. Slaves and outsiders. Meaningless lives led by brainless fools.

All of these things and more ran through the Pharaoh’s mind after his wasted trip to the states. Ashanti, while of his chapter, was still jerking his chain in spite of his many, many warnings that she should never do such a thing. She had pulled him away from his council, and for what? Bonding? With a beast? He had no use for beasts. He had the ones he needed and wanted. He had no use for any further bonding. He had bound himself to the ones he felt were deserving.

And a non-Egyptian human monster was no more a concern to him than the dirt he scraped off the bottom of his shoe.

His council suggested he let this whole incident go and focus on the more important tasks at hand. They were closer and closer to having the resources and allies required to go forth with their plans every single day. A delay such as this could not have set them back. Not after their hundreds of years of diplomatic meetings and secret assemblies. Not after the hunt and preservation of creatures that still thrived on the pantheon he remained nothing but faithful to. Not after all the resources they had saved, the weaponry they had created, the holy rites they had sought after. Not after he had become the demigod who would lead this nation into a new age. He needn’t worry over the pirate and her menial exploits.

So why did he?

He recalled the boy Ashanti had thrown at him. Well, one could not call him boy. He was a grown man. Or grown monster. What was it she had yelled as she lifted the seven foot former beast and heaved him across the way towards him?

That’s right.

Bond over repressed cultures.

Pharaoh scoffed at the very notion. What did a beast know of his repression? Of his loss? Of his grief and strife and determination to get back what had been lost?

That last question gave him pause. A long pause . . . .

What exactly did that beast know?

Perhaps too much. Perhaps Ashanti had tipped him off to a traitor. If rumors were to be believed, he was in fact a traitor to the Puppeteers. He had deserted, but had had enough favor with the new North American Puppet Masters that his life had been spared. That meant little to Pharaoh, what did matter was what did he know that the pirate deemed so important for him to fly halfway across the world just to speak with him? He did not like mystery, nor did he like her simple way of addressing issues. One could not just hall a living thing at another and expect an accord.

Why was he even still considering it?

“My darling,” his wife interrupted his thoughts, leaning close. “You are thinking a great deal. What of?”

He did not answer immediately, simply gazing at Bahiti and considering his latest concerns. Should he call them concerns? What else could he call them? He had been pondering a great deal too much to simply brush it off. Ashanti may be a peasant, but she wasn’t actually a fool. She respected his space and he respected hers. That she had entered his space (or rather thrown someone into it) . . . perhaps he should pay attention. With this in mind, he sought counsel from his queen. “I am considering returning to the states.” The beast . . . Tea had not argued that he wasn’t oppressed. Rowan had not argued.

That he remembered the beast’s name was answer enough. He must return. Bahiti’s quiet, “I follow you, my Pharaoh,” was also confirmation.


	6. Relapse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tea slips back into emotionlessness for a period of time and gains the attention of quite a handful of people.

He had woken up to a cold bed, then stood and wandered somewhere warmer. Anywhere warmer. He didn’t know where Lola was. She had been watching him, getting him to sleep ever since Senti had drained him. Even after regaining his emotions, there were spells where he would slip back into his empty, blissful state. This was one of those occasions. Gemmy and Luster stayed in his head, assuring him that it was devoid of all dreams and nightmares.

He was.

Empty.

Empty and cold.

He now lay on his back before the fireplace, the heat seeping from the stone and fire up and through him. It was while lying on the fire he had felt a gentle wriggling in his chest. He hadn’t thought it normal. Hadn’t thought he should feel it quite so vividly. His heart couldn’t possibly move that fast at a resting state.

So he did the only logical thing.

He tried to remove the movement.

By the time someone found him, he was healing from having scraped out handfuls of his heart and other moving pieces within his chest cavity. He kept scraping until he couldn’t feel the movement at all. With no emotion, there was no fear of his heartless self. He was completely void. 

He had hardly even felt the sensory pain of the removal.

But the voice that struck him struck some cord in him. Recognition perhaps. The knowledge he should be wary, but not the actual feeling of wariness. “What a mess you have made. What possessed you to do such a thing?”

Alulle. Or . . . Abaddon. Abaddon was what he called himself now. Wasn’t it?

Tea swallowed before answering the Ancient. “Wouldn’t stop moving.” His voice was soft, unexpressive. His eyes were half lidded. He stared up at the high ceiling, not at the creature whose eyes floated above his head.

He knew the eyes were watching him but felt no need to tell Abaddon to look away.

The blood on his shirt and hands had long since dried. His wounds were still sensitive. How long had he been lying here? Twelve hours? Twenty-four? The question of Lola’s location burned in his mind. He knew it had something to do with Abaddon’s reappearance.

He hadn’t known he’d come back . . . .

He didn’t get the chance to ask. Abaddon hovered over him, standing so that his legs framed Tea’s limp body. “How is the emotionless life treating you, Rowan Alder?” Tea’s only answer was the minor flexing of his fingertips. It was as much a shrug as he could provide. “Must be new for you, being an empath.”

The half dead voice in the back of Tea’s mind nagged at him for speaking, but his lips moved anyhow. “Yes.” He sounded so quiet, even in his own head. “New.”

The Ancient smiled. It was odd. A grin against a face with no eyes. He had eyes, just not on his face. “Anything like heartlessness?”

Tea shook his head. “Feel . . . aggressive. When heartless.”

“Not now?” Tea didn’t answer. “Obviously. Fascinating.” Abaddon crouched, eyes nearing Tea’s face. The skinwalker neither moved nor responded as Abaddon’s palms (two of them at least, he had four now) framed his body. The Ancient straddled him and he felt no reaction whatsoever. No fight or flight or flee instinct came to life as Abaddon asked, “Cult treating you well? Nothing new since I have been away?”

“Lola was a surprise,” Tea answered honestly. The changes she had gone through had been difficult on her.

“A beautiful one, was she not?” Tea’s eyes stared past the Ancient, not actually focusing on him. The Ancient sounded content. He even looked as content as he could emote. Tea hadn’t been able to read him well to begin with, but he could look at the expressions and know a little of what he was feeling. Yes. He was definitely content. “You’ve been a busy beast.” Abaddon cupped Tea’s face in both hands and the eyes got closer. “Running about and fixing things and taking orders, sounds like more of the same to me.”

There was a pinch that Tea wouldn’t have noticed had he not been so attune with all of his bodily functions in lieu of emotionlessness. “What are you—?”

“Shhh it is nothing. Just a little taste,” Abaddon licked his lips, “of somethings bitter, sweet, and something in between. You have quite a range, and you won’t feel a thing.”

Memories. Lola had told him Abaddon fed on memories.

And Abaddon was right. He didn’t feel anything at all.

“Strange . . .,” he murmured. Lola had said this was painful to endure.

“Only because you’re quite hollow at the moment. Now tell me,” Abaddon began, “is the candle as cruel a Master as Liam Evermine?”

Tea thought. “Barely even a master.”

“Oh, don’t let her hear you say that,” Abaddon added with a chuckle. “She may get rough with you.”

“Always rough with me.” The cult leader had her own way of showing kindness. Softness was not that way. She was a hard woman. 

“She’s been alive for so long, surely she must have some secret you know of.” Tea almost said that she did, but Abaddon quickly trampled the subject with the question, “What was Liam’s?”

Only one word came to mind for his former Master. “Cruelty.” His eyes lost focus and he blinked, looking through the ceiling rafters again as more words came to mind. “Hatred. Relic.”

“Relic? His beast?” Tea was getting drowsy. He was warm and the pinch was almost soothing. His eyes started to flutter shut. “No no,” Abaddon shook Tea’s head slightly, rousing him enough that his eyes opened back up. “Relic?”

Tea nodded once. “Beast . . . affects personality . . . because . . . heart.”

“Ah,” Abaddon mused. “So Relic was hateful and cruel, and Relic having Liam’s heart made Liam hateful and cruel as well. Was Liam not always that way?”

Tea remembered something. It was . . . a ghost of a memory. “There were . . . moments when Liam was . . . sorrowful. Not . . . unkind.” Those moments never lasted long. Tea had cried many times wondering what life would have been like if that Liam were his keeper.

“Very interesting. So a cruel puppet makes a cruel Master, not the other way around.” The grin widened. Tea saw it out of the corner of his eye. “How very interesting. One can imagine what would have happened had you had his heart.”

“I do.”

“Oh, because Relic was killed.” The eyes all went wide, almost in mock. “I will keep that in mind.” The grin returned and the pinch was growing looser the long Abaddon sat over him and spoke with him. “I am curious, Rowan Alder. How would you brand . . . me?” Fangs looked ready to pierce Tea’s flesh at any moment. Eyes appeared to see straight through him. And yet he couldn’t feel the desire to struggle in the slightest. The voice in his head called him helpless and he didn’t agree or disagree. “I’m not a most corporeal form, but could you?”

Tea shook his head slightly. “Not brand. Other methods. Herbs. Stones.” How he had contracted Luster. “Brand is . . . just traditional.”

“So an Ancient can be claimed.” There was a mirth in Abaddon’s tone.

It disappeared when Tea said, “Not recommended. Ancients . . . volatile. Unskilled Toy . . . or Master claiming primary . . . could implode.”

“Ah, or explode.” The mirth was gone. “Humans. They claim they are made up of stars and yet when they become stars they simply cannot take it, can they?”

“No.”

Another small chuckle. “I like you like this, you know? You should stay this way.”

Unfortunately, Tea didn’t have much say in that regard.

\--

Tea had been gone for almost a month and the rabbit would not tell him where the skinwalker was. So Sasha did the most reasonable thing he could think of.

He waited until Seon had texted him ‘no’ twice daily, and then proceeded into the manor under the premise that she had not been referring to what he was doing as of right now. If krolik would not tell him how his lapochka was, he would find out himself.

Lunchbreak in broad daylight was a strange time for Eventide to be inactive, but it wasn’t strange for the cult. It seemed that no one truly wished to be awake at this time. A bunch of nocturnal beasts it would seem. He wandered inward through the tunnel in the Candle Shop, entering the manor that way. He almost got distracted by the impressive architecture, almost wanted to duck outside and look at the building as a whole to get a firm grasp on it. He did not. He had a mission, he had a desire. He needed to focus on finding the skinwalker, not on the building.

All other thoughts ceased and scattered when he found himself in a common room. The room would have been lovely to focus on were it not for the black creature looming over that familiar beast.

There was blood on the skinwalker’s hands.

The creature above him . . . was grinning.

There was a snap, a split second where Sasha could hear his rationality flee his body. It was the same snap that had him pulling both guns from their hiding spots on his person. There was a hollowness in the action that didn’t match the fury in his expression as he shot the creature in the head.

He unloaded the guns then froze.

The creature that loomed over the skinwalker didn’t budge. He went still, smile fading, then shuddered. The bullets Sasha had put in the monster came oozing out of the holes they’d lodged themselves in. They fell on the stone before the fireplace, clattering loudly as the creature groaned and Tea remained unmoving. Sasha’s eyes darted between the skinwalker and the creature.

Whose floating eyes turned above him to look at Sasha.

The creature’s body didn’t move an inch except to speak. “Ouch.” He stood, eyes locked on Sasha as the Russian Grand Editor hastily reloaded the clips. “Couldn’t you have gotten a little more creative than that?”

“Get away from him,” Sasha growled. He felt his teeth turning into Phil’s under bite, and didn’t hesitate to the let the hair on his arms stand and grow. Claws threatened to make firing his guns more difficult, but he wasn’t unaccustomed to them. He just needed to focus. He was focusing, but perhaps a little too hard.

The monster stood over Tea, who blinked his eyes open. A pang of relief surged through Sasha, but it was greatly muted by his rage at the thing who had left Tea like that. That thing was turning towards him at last.

Sasha was staring at a face without eyes. “You’re lucky I just finished my meal.” The first thought that came to mind was that the monster had eaten Tea’s heart and he was already contemplating shooting the creature again in spite of the lack of effect. “Oh, it did not hurt him. Not as much as you will.”

“Get away from him!” Sasha bellowed in a voice that resembled his yeti’s. He aimed again.

Just before the creature shot upward. “Do clean him up before my vessel finds him,” he declared before disappearing.

Sasha stood frozen for a moment, waiting for an attack. He was bristling. He was furious.

He wanted to hurt something.

But the skinwalker was stirring. He had something more important he desperately needed to focus on now.

\--

Tea had nearly dozed off when loud shots had rung out and there were voices. He shifted slightly, thinking maybe he could use more warmth. He was about to roll towards the fire and away from Abaddon when suddenly Abaddon was gone.

And an abominable snowman was pulling him up by the shoulders.

He heard the huffing and growling, but his vision was slightly fuzzy. His head tilted and he looked over the person holding him up and prodding at his chest. Dark blonde . . . Hawaiian . . . shirt . . . .

“Sa . . . Sasha Z—?” he was cut off as his shirt was ripped open. He stared at the hands that splayed over his chest, covered in dried blood and no sign of injury. Only old scars.

Sasha’s brow furrowed and pinched. It was a . . . fitting expression with this form he was taking. “Whose blood?” The question was much deeper than Tea recalled it being.

“Mine.” Sasha started groping him then, searching for the source of the blood no doubt. Tea grunted as he was lifted slightly, the words, “Healed. I healed,” spilling out as he tried in vain to pull free of Sasha’s hold. He was rolling him away from the fire. He didn’t want to be cold again.

Sasha set Tea back down on the stone and Tea sighed, closing his eyes. Sasha was cupping his face now, and Tea could almost sense the larger man’s gaze boring into his face. “Something is wrong, lapochka.” The voice was softer. Sasha was . . . he was calming down. There was a piece of him that sensed that, that piece struggling under the emptiness that forced him to rest calm. “Did that beast do thi—?”

Tea shook his head again. “No.” He gave a brief explanation of his run-in with Senti, telling Sasha that this was just a blip in his recovering from the draining. He felt no need to censor the information he was giving the man. He felt no concern whatsoever. He just felt tired. Tired and . . . he was cold again for a moment as Sasha picked him up and he was being carried away from the fireplace. “No. Cold,” he uttered quietly. “Cold,” he declared a little louder as Sasha continued anyway, carrying him bridal style as Tea shrank and shivered in his arms.

“I will get you warm again, lapochka.” The words were chilly themselves, Sasha’s arms rigid. “But first point me to the nearest sink.” Tea did so, directing him to the kitchen in the northern wing. As Sasha moved, Tea’s eyes peered up at the man. The Grand Editor’s face was still pinched and Tea recalled he was supposed to be avoiding this man. It was . . . a bit late for evasive maneuvers Tea thought. And he couldn’t recall exactly why he should avoid him, aside from being a Puppeteer. Strange. He wasn’t acting like one, at least not to Tea’s knowledge. “Perhaps you can help me as well, lapochka.”

“I pointed you to the sink,” Tea responded flatly.

A small smirk. “You did. But maybe conversation.”

“Oh.”

“It will take my mind off of whatever I just witnessed.”

“Oh,” Tea said again, the second lamer than the first. “Um . . . what . . . do you usually . . . discuss?” 

Sasha brought him into the kitchen, then kicked a chair out from under the table to set Tea in it. As Sasha did so, he grunted out the words, “Anything. I am not a picky man when it comes to conversation.” Once Tea was in the seat, he started to stand and Sasha pushed him back down with ease. “Ah ah, you stay there.” Tea actually obeyed, sitting in the chair and shivering as Sasha held his hands up in the event Tea attempted to move again. “Good. Now,” he turned about, looking over the kitchen before starting his search, “talk to me.”

As Sasha flipped through cabinets and cupboards, Tea hemmed and hawed in an attempt to find a topic. “Do you have any questions actually?” He couldn’t very well come up with anything to discuss. He was stuck trying to remember how this Puppeteers was a threat aside from being . . . a Puppeteer.

“Well lapochka,” the word rang a threatening bell as Sasha pulled a large bowl from a cabinet by the stove and set it in the sink, “how about . . . a theoretical situation?” He started the water, Tea watching as he turned on both warm and cold streams until he found the temperature he liked. “If you were stranded on an island, what three things would you most want?”

Tea threw he head back and stared at the ceiling. That was hard . . . but mostly because it didn’t make sense to him. “Stranded . . . would these be things I need?”

“Things you want, lapochka.”

Want . . . that’s right. Sasha wanted him. A voice in his head wanted to scream, but another popped up and he couldn’t help but agree with it. It said, “Who didn’t?”

Tea hummed. “Things I want . . . .” It was indeed a difficult question for him. “Um . . . tea,” that was a necessity as well as a want. “My . . . pelt-let . . . and,” he ran his fingers over the item in question, the wolf fur firm yet soft against his fingertips. He couldn’t think of another . . . except . . . .

“So you get the name Tea from liking tea, obviously,” Sasha interjected. It was perhaps good he did. Tea’s brain was currently frying over the last of the three things he wanted. “What is a pelt-let?”

The Russian picked the bowl up out of the sink after turning the water off, bringing it over to rest it on the table beside Tea. He guided Tea in placing his hands in the water. The skinwalker sighed at the warmth and probably would have tried to fit in the bowl if he could make himself small enough. A purr erupted from his throat. “A pelt . . . bracelet. Made for me. By a friend.” Said pelt-let remained just out of reach of the water as Sasha massaged the dried blood off of Tea’s hands in the bowl.

“Your kind require a pelt to change, am I correct?” Tea nodded at the question. “Did you not have one before?”

Tea shook his head. “Never allowed.”

Sasha stared into the water, not pressing the issue. The water was growing darker from his fluids. “You said you healed. How did you learn to accomplish that?”

“Cult power. Contracted by trade.”

“For the soul?”

Tea nodded. “Blood . . . and scars too. Result of . . . leaving.”

“Your Masters?” Tea nodded. Sasha’s grip on Tea’s palms tightened suddenly, the massaging movements turning rougher. Tea didn’t react. “They did this to you? Or the cult—?”

“They tried to kill me. The cult . . .,” Tea yawned, “saved me. Without them,” he leaned heavily on the table, relying greatly on it and Sasha to keep him up, “wouldn’t have healed . . . as fast.”

Sasha pondered for a while. Then he pulled one of Tea’s hands out of the blackened water to inspect it. He ran his thumb over Tea’s talons and the skinwalker’s fingers twitched at the sensation. “So,” Sasha began, “your Masters were displeased with you joining the cult and so tried to kill you. The cult helped you heal, giving you the black blood and healing ability, and you are scarred from it? Is that right?”

Tea shook his head. Close but not entirely, he thought. “Displeased . . . I sided. With the cult.”

“You were part of it before?”

Tea said only one word. “Harbinger.”

That seemed to tell Sasha everything he needed to know. There was a long silence as Sasha polished off Tea’s hands and arms, cleansing them of the blood. Then finally the Russian asked, “Have you ever been heartless?”

“Few times.”

The face Sasha made in response seemed skeptical, but he quickly covered it with the additional question, “Is this what heartlessness feels like to you?”

Tea shook his head. “Worse. Like . . . nothing but . . . anger. Selfishness.” He fumbled for words. “Entitlement. I become . . . cruel.” Tea stopped, tongue going still. “I don’t remember ever . . . liking . . . the feeling. It’s like . . . always being hungry. Never full.” Tea glanced to Sasha, taking in the blueness of his eyes. “Is that what it’s supposed to feel like?”

At this, Sasha shook his head. “No. It is not supposed to feel like that.”

Tea thought for a moment. “I think that’s how . . . Liam felt. A lot.”

Sasha said nothing. He pushed Tea’s shirt off of him, then used it to wash away the blood on Tea’s torso. Tea liked the water. It was warm. It was comfortable. It wasn’t the fireplace, but it was trying to be a substitute. When Sasha took it from him, however, Tea was left colder. He shivered, remaining still because Sasha had told him to. He stared at the floor, listening as Sasha emptied the bowl.

Then started to fill the teakettle.

“What tea would you like?” Tea shook his head. “Is there any you don’t want?”

“Chamomile.” He didn’t want to be knocked out cold. He wanted to be awake. “Or sleepytime.”

“Earl grey?” Tea nodded. As Sasha pulled the box down, he declared, “I will have to introduce you to Russian tea. You may find it to your liking.” Tea nodded, unsure if he should be agreeing to this as tea affected his moods in strange ways. He didn’t see any harm in trying though. “If it were not so cold, I think Russian air would be good for you lapochka. You simply have not lived until you have breathed something so crisp.”

“Usually I’m too hot,” Tea interjected without thinking. “To be cold is . . . really weird actually.” Now that he thought about it, it was strange for him to feel cold.

“Zamechatel’no. Perhaps one day you would like to come stay with me?”

“Maybe . . . .” Tea didn’t have a reason to say no at the moment, even with the nagging voice in his head. The pot whistled and he watched Sasha pour the hot water over the teabag. As it steeped, Tea murmured, “Bed’s colder,” like he remembered something.

He could tell from the habitual tightening of his throat it wasn’t a pleasant memory.

“Any reason?”

A pause. “Emptier.”

“You usually sleep with someone then?”

Tea didn’t hesitate. “I haven’t slept alone since gaining my freedom.” Sasha went quiet again. He then carried the steaming cup over to Tea, he held his hands out for it expectantly. Sasha didn’t try to stop him, instead watching with intrigue as Tea took the boiling hot mug and swallowed down the entirety of the drink in one go. Picking up the teabag, he set it on his tongue and proceeded to suck on it. He then added, almost like he was clarifying an unanswered question, “Liam and Lance didn’t like sharing me with others, and they didn’t like the idea of anyone but them getting to see me asleep. I used to be alone almost every night.”

Sasha took a seat across from him, his gaze . . . intense. The Russian leaned on the table for support as Tea continued to cradle the still hot cup in his hands. “Lapochka,” he started quietly, “what’s the worst thing they did to you?”

The voice in Tea’s head went dead, like even it wanted to stay quiet. Like it wanted him to follow suit. Tea blinked several times, staring at the bottom of his mug and grasping it until it was room temperature again. Until then it and the boiling water in his stomach kept him warm. Kept him from shivering. The teabag in his mouth, however, didn’t keep him from answering. “I used to think it was the sex.” He shook his head. “It hurt, but . . . not as much,” there were nails dragging over the tabletop, but they weren’t his, “as the way people looked at me. Like . . . I deserved it. Or . . . I was . . . disgusting for it.” He started to look up at Sasha, and he could see the Russian’s eye twitching as he finished with the word, “Tainted.” He quickly, visually assessed the Grand Editor. Sasha was once again rigid and even not looking at the stone expression Tea knew without empathy the man was angry. “I said too much.” He knew it based on the silence in his head.

He actually heard Sasha swallow back whatever it was he might have thought about saying. Instead, Sasha said, “You said just enough.”

Tea was stumped. Setting the mug so it rested in his lap, he tilted his head. “You didn’t know, did—?”

“I guessed.” Suddenly a palm was cupping Tea’s cheek, a thumb stroking under his eye. Tea didn’t flinch, didn’t move. He just let the other touch him. “One doesn’t simply acquire the glazed look you had the first time I saw you. Not without . . . consequences. Or assistance, rather.” Tea thought he should say something to that, but he didn’t. He didn’t know what. Sasha changed the subject on his own, however. “Who are you sleeping with now?”

To which Tea replied, “Lola.”

“Have you always slept with her?” Tea shook his head. “Who before then?”

Tea’s vision blurred and he didn’t know why. That is, he didn’t know until the thumb under his eye was smearing saltwater streams across his cheek and he was whispering, “Aiden.”

The thumb stopped, and Tea brought up his own fingers to swipe slowly at the tears. He couldn’t feel the pain that brought them on . . . but surely it was there. The streams were evidence enough the pain was still there. He stared at the water on his fingertips, other hand lamely holding the cup as Sasha asked, “Was he someone you really loved?” A pause. Then Tea nodded once. “So much so that when he left you couldn’t take it?”

“You . . . knew he left?”

“I assumed.” Tea accepted that. Another pause. Then Tea nodded. “How does it feel loving someone that much?”

Tea could think of only one word. “Devastating.”

It was Sasha who paused this time. Then he asked, “Do you think you could love another so strongly, lapochka?”

Tea thought about it. His answer was honest. “I don’t know.” But in the back of his mind . . . he knew the truth.

It was too terrifying to say aloud, too . . . alive for him to acknowledge. There were names repeating themselves in his mind. Lola. Aren. Amaya. Leland . . . .

Dawn . . . .

Aiden . . . .

He knew the answer, but . . . it was perhaps the one thing he couldn’t tell Sasha. Not even like this. 

The man was gathering him up in his arms again. The last question he asked after requesting that Tea direct him which bed he should sleep in was, “What do you think of this building?”

He spent the rest of the time discussing the safe topic of architecture with the Russian Grand Editor.

\--

He would have taken Tea if not for the fact he couldn’t guarantee a warm journey. As such, he decided to get Tea as warm as possible where he was. 

Getting Tea in bed wasn’t difficult. Getting Tea to stay in bed however proved to be moreso. Sasha had resolved to guard the door in the event that entity returned. No matter how often Tea said that the entity hadn’t hurt him, Sasha remained stalwart.

And Tea remained determined to return to that damnable fireplace.

And thus Sasha had wound up curled around the sleeping skinwalker, gun in hand as the smaller slept. Tea had successfully managed to unbutton Sasha’s shirt and snuggled closer to his chest in his desperate bid for warmth.

He didn’t know how long he lay there with his gun ready.

He didn’t know how long he waited for something sinister to come through the door.

His eyes were open.

His phone buzzed once and he knew it was from Seon.

He waited . . . .

When the door finally swung open, he directed the barrel of his gun at it and he bristled at the sight of a revolver pointing at him. Though the revolver was in the hands of the familiar krolik, he refused to stay his hand.

As did she. “Get the fuck away from him potato,” she whispered.

“Where have you been?” he responded in a similar tone.

“Who do you think you are, my dad? Sorry, but he’s dead. Been a bit busy with an asshole, now get the fuck out.”

“What a coincidence. I’ve been busy with one as well.”

Her fur bristled and he knew she had taken that perhaps not in the best way. “I’m going to count to three—”

“A demon was feeding on him when I found him, that is what I meant by asshole krolik. Now I refuse to leave him—”

“What kind of demon?” Her hands loosened, her eyes suddenly wide as she looked at him.

His hand actually tightened on the gun, her reaction unnerving him. “Black face, no eyes. Eyes floating above head—”

“Four arms?” Sasha nodded. Lola hissed, gun lowering. His gun, however, didn’t. “That fucking bastard—”

“So you know him?”

“Yeah!” she declared a little louder than she intended, revolver coming back up as Tea mumbled something into Sasha’s collarbone. “Okay,” she took a deep breath, closing her eyes momentarily. “You saw him feeding?” Sasha nodded again. “Yeah, that won’t hurt Tea. Tea’s fine.”

Tea had said the same thing, but Sasha still wasn’t sure he believed them. “How do you know?”

“I really don’t want to tell you.”

“I really would like to know.”

“Put the gun down and maybe I’ll tell you.”

“After you, krolik.”

She hissed again. They stared at one another, guns up and eyes narrowed. Tea murmured in his sleep, the words incoherent. Time felt slow, but . . . .

Lola grumbled before slowly lowering the gun. Sasha followed suit when she pinched her sinuses and set the gun down on one of the flat surfaces in her room. There was another long pause before she let out a loud huff. “He’s my ex,” she snarled, “and he used to feed on me the same way.” She glared at Sasha, the information given begrudgingly. “Tea is fine. Now can you please go? I’m tired and I’m sure he needs his sleep too.”

She didn’t wait for Sasha to respond, instead crawling into the bed behind Tea. She wrapped her arms around the skinwalker, who hummed appreciatively and squeezed tighter. Sasha didn’t move . . . and Lola didn’t pressure him any further. Her ears drooped and she held onto Tea.

Sasha stared at her a moment longer before looking over both beasts. Then he murmured, “Your hair is longer, krolik.”

Her only response was an irritated groan.


	7. New Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the midst of all the strange and uncomfortable happening, Tea gains some new companions.

He had wanted to prove he was ready to go out. Yes, he still had moments where he relapsed into his emotionless state. He had researched this phenomenon: after a complete drain it was likely the donor would experience up to two or three months where relapses were possible. But he desperately needed to get back into a routine of sorts. If he didn’t, he was going to stay in bed for eternity.

And he didn’t want to risk having the Puppeteer who wanted him finding him in bed. Again.

Just a few groceries. He’d gone out for just a few groceries. He’d even borrowed some regular looking clothes and avoided his long coat. Long sleeves were still a necessity though. Black markings tended to draw attention, significantly if they were uneven and clearly mistakes. That was another train of thought he really didn’t want to go on. Picking up a few things at the store for various members of the manor, he walked home with a few bags in hand. He didn’t realize he was being followed until he stopped short of a mud puddle.

Something small ran into his heel and mewled.

Tea turned his head and . . . needless to say, this was how he wound up in one of the common rooms with a laundry hamper and a tiny saucer of milk surrounded by six kittens greedily lapping it up. “Are you seriously keeping them?” Yin asked joyously as two of the black kittens crawled up her shirt. “I mean, how can you not?! Clearly they chose you.”

“I’ve been stalked by animals before. It’s just been a long time.” Many many years in fact. “It’s usually because . . . I don’t know.”

“They sense you can be trusted,” Lola pointed out as she picked up the single tabby in the litter and cooed to him.

“Yeah . . . that’s what my mom used to say.” Both women seemed pleased at his openness with the statement. It was the first time he’d mentioned his mother without outwardly getting upset.

Lola asked cautiously, “You up for keeping kittens? It’s a big project.”

“A great project!” Yin declared. “Please keep them, Tea? Please?”

Honestly . . . Tea couldn’t think of a better distraction at the moment. So he nodded.

Six kittens were actually easy to hide. They all stayed in Lola’s room for a period of time. Tea would go out to the grocery store and he would come back with tea and kitten food.

And soon he was making routine trips to the animal shelter and even offering to start volunteering as soon as he was certain his relapses were over and done with. Why? Because it had become the habit of every stray in Eventide to follow his every move. The only ones he decided he wanted to keep were the six kittens.

Even their time in the manor seemed short when Tapi came sneezing through Tilӓ loudly asking, “Who has a goddamn cat?!” Another sneeze. “Or fifteen?!” Tea bit his lip and immediately she pointed at him. “You! Get rid of them! Post haste!”

To say that he was downtrodden was an understatement. “You could always move in with us,” Amaya had suggested. Only Amaya’s home was still under renovation and . . . well a bug lived there. Much as Tea loved the Phobias, he was also loving the space he was given from them.

Especially since Luster was taking longer to grieve over a certain someone than him. He hadn’t had the break Tea had.

“I don’t want you to get rid of them. They’ve been helping you a lot,” Lola said, foot tapping rapidly in annoyance with Tapi. “I don’t care if she’s allergic, she doesn’t own the whole damn manor.”

“Actually—”

“I know.” Lola huffed, sitting on the bed beside him as the kittens crawled over him. “Tell me their names again? How to distinguish? Distract me?”

Tea also sighed, pointing to the tuxedos on his shoulders. “Lavender and Rosemary. Rosemary has the pink nose. Lavender the black.” He gestured to the tabby. “Parsley is easy. Sage, Basil, and Thyme—”

“Are impossible.”

“Actually no.” Tea ran his hands over each of the kittens currently fighting over space on his lap. “Sage has the shortest tail, Basil has pink nose and toe beans, and—”

“Wait, he does?!” She immediately picked up Basil to look at his nose and toes. “Oh my God, how is that even—?”

“Just a fluke. Genetic anomaly. Like Thyme.” Tea then held up the last kitten and showed her his paws as well. “He’s polydactyl. Extra toes.”

Lola watched as Tea stroked his babies. They were his babies. He found himself smiling every time he looked at them, smile only widening when they mewled at him. “You have to keep them. We just . . . need to find a way to hide them.”

“Why don’t I move out?”

“Well yeah—”

“On my own. In town.” She looked at him. His heart actually skipped a beat at the thought. “Dextra used to live in Eventide. She could probably direct me to a place.” Lola’s ears were standing upright, her eyes wide. “Maybe I can live close to the shop and—”

“Have you ever lived on your own?”

Tea shook his head. “Always lived in . . . some sort of communal headquarters. Figured it’d be nice not to deal with . . . I don’t know. Noise complaints and waiting for the bathroom or stove.” He could have a room that no one else could enter without his express permission. He could lock his own doors, read uninterrupted, blast music with no threat of someone filming him singing. He could . . . he could do this now. This was an option for him. “I should at least be able to say I’ve tried it.” Maybe it wouldn’t be for him. Maybe it would. “I could make it into the maintenance office, start a business—,” Rosemary meowed loudly in his ear and he smiled wide. “Keep my kittens.” His heart grew heavy. “Say I’m free and mean it . . . .”

Lola looked hesitant though. He could imagine why. Puppeteers were currently roaming. Duties and stresses still hung heavy overhead. There was a likelihood that he would have too difficult a time adjusting. He was sixty-nine and he had never lived on his own.

Better late than never. Had he been asked if this were possible last year at this time, he would have scoffed at the notion. Now . . . .

He could do this. He absolutely could do this.

Lola’s only question? “Can I have a key so I can check on you?”

Tea nodded. He was already forming a list of people who could absolutely have keys to his home.

It turned out saving his earnings from his days as a Puppeteer had been good for something, as he had a home by the time September 1 rolled around. The only thing he brought with him was his dresser, which contained everything he owned. He left his old bed in his old room in the manor for Gemmy and Luster, and had another one ordered for him. Amaya insisted he take some of her spare furniture, and Tapi practically threw his tea cabinet and kettle at him. As soon as they moved in, his kittens were right at home in the condo. He was a block away from the Candle Shop, and a world away from anything he had ever understood or experienced.

It was the first positive thing that had happened for him in months.


	8. The Off Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Tea is still getting himself together enough to return to work, Lola gets herself hurt going out and looking for Aiden. She is helped by an unlikely trio: a thousand year old Viking Puppeteer, his adopted beast sister, and a Scandinavian fire fox.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was cowritten with the absolutely lovely Lola!

“AIDEEEEN!” Lola had been out in the forest for hours now, yelling and searching for Tea’s lover. “Birb I know you’re out here!” She was getting a little frantic in her search, wandering slowly away from the manor. It made her chest clench in fear somehow, but she had to find him, she had to help Tea. “AIDEN! I . . . I know you’re still mad at me, but Tea needs you!” She was met with silence. Lola huffed, she disliked the forest ever since the unicorn incident. But she had to try something, the Puppeteers being back was the cherry on top of a shitty pie. She sighed and continued her search.

\--

Meanwhile, he watched. He had been keeping an eye on the manor for a while now, but he hadn't seen his former host since before he left her. “Oh Lola…what is possessing you to leave your Sanctuary?” He was curious, glad he could finally see her, but still, her leaving the cult wasn't going to help his plans in the slightest. 

The chaos demon sighed, he had two options: he could take her now, while the cult was apparently in new turmoil, or he could wait and take the whole thing down in good time. Lola was his catalyst after all, so if he chose to wait (really the sensible option) he would have to make sure she stayed there.

Whether she wanted to or not. 

It was with that mentality that he snaked through the trees, spotting a small cliff side, it was perfect, with the regeneration the former human now had, any injury would heal quickly and he could get her closer to the manor. He quickly used his shadows to shift them the form of the one she sought out, or something similar. He hadn’t met Aiden, but knew what the man looked like. He had woven them perfectly, putting the fake Aiden at the bottom of the cliff, and using more shadows to conceal it.

\--

“Lola?” 

Her sensitive ears caught a voice. Was it him? It sounded like Aiden, at least a little. Lola turned and ran towards the voice, spotting a figure between the trees. she recognized that build, she found him! “Aiden!” The smaller woman ran through the trees, towards the man until . . . .

Her foot met nothing.

She shrieked as she fell, her body hitting the cliff side, then ground with a painful thud and what she was sure was a crunch. Pain ran up her body in waves, she gasped, feeling blood tricking past her forehead and down her temple. It hurt pretty bad, she couldn't feel one of her legs. Lola whined, if any Puppeteer found her now . . . .

She didn't want to think about that, she had to heal this injury, and fast. But she was slipping away, darkness clouding her vision until she was met with crushing backness. 

The demon formerly known as Alulle winced . . . he might have overdone it

\--

Grane had been watching the manor through an ornate spyglass covered in carvings done by hand. If asked how he had gotten a hold of this magical item, he would never tell. Some secrets he thought best kept secret. It pierced through the spells meant to protect the home of the Candle Cult, allowing him a visual of the alleged rivals’ territory. He had followed Ant here, meaning to stay back but be available should his Puppet Master need him. So far Ant had not involved him, but he thought it better safe than sorry.

War had taught him that it was always better to be safe than sorry.

He had just finished his reconnaissance when he heard a woman screaming an unfamiliar name. An eyebrow ticked up, and he bristled. A woman? In these woods? Only a fool would venture into these woods. He didn’t need the spyglass to know something was afoot here. 

Then he heard a crash and a thud.

The woman fell silent.

Grane moved quickly but quietly. He stepped over roots with precision, landing softly on moss. When he came upon the groove in the earth where the woman had fallen, it wasn’t difficult to see her.

She was stark white and blue against the dark forest floor.

And she had flames . . . on rabbit ears . . . .

Grane froze, sliding behind a tree and watching to ensure she was in fact unconscious. He also watched to be sure she was alone. When no one came forward to claim her . . . he actually felt a tremor of concern. It wasn’t in Grane’s nature to be worried over someone’s health. No.

That was his sister’s way.

He could almost hear her voice in his head. Don’t leave her like that, she said.

Bruna you know we must be careful, he conversed with the mental image of his beast.

And that mental image scoffed at him. Remember what Ant said: these are not our enemies.

He had found that hard to believe. He still did. We do not know that for certain, he thought. Grane was keeping his distance for a damn good reason.

But she could be hurt, his sister’s voice argued in his mind. He tried to block it out, starting to turn away and leave the white, rabbit eared woman on the ground. Then her voice returned full force, What if it were me?

And he stopped in his tracks.

What if it were Bruna?

There was a time . . . when it had been her. Only then she hadn’t been his sister.

She had been a part human, part cub left in the ditch with a broken leg.

Grane went even stiller at the memory. So long ago . . . before he’d been in battle. He’d seen battle then, but had not been in it. He had already learned to carry a weapon. He had already believed his one true path was to Valhalla, that the last color he would see would be the red haze of his rage.

And then he would feast with warriors.

But then . . . there was this little wolf girl . . . and with her . . . .

Bruna had not always been the Valkyrie in his own private Valhalla. That had come with time. He had had to get used to the notion that he may never make it to Thor’s side. As Viking culture changed and shifted and faded over time, he stayed close to the only two things he saw as constants.

War.

And Bruna.

Not even their true names had been as constant as war and his sister.

What if it were Bruna?

Grane drew in a deep breath, shoulders rising gradually before falling again with a powerful exhale. He turned back towards the cultist lying vulnerable on the ground.

Because if it were Bruna, that’s what he would do.

\--

“You weren’t supposed to follow us!”

“Awww, but you would have missed me.”

Bruna growled, but Rory didn’t let up. If anything, he grew more persistent as he followed her around the little hotel room. “Grane will be back soon. You should leave before then.”

“But I miss the grand ole bear.”

Will you miss being scruffed and thrown from the window of this three story building? Bruna thought. “He’s not gonna be happy to see you,” she sang.

“Bruna, my dearest brown wolf,” he slung an arm over her and she resisted the urge to bite it, “have you not wondered what fascinating things lie in those woods your gray bear is searching?”

She had, but Rory didn’t need to know that. “Grane will tell me.”

“Or—”

“No—,” she pointed at him.

And he took that hand in both of his as he continued, “—you could go see for yourself.”

Bruna pulled her hand free. “Rory!”

“Bruna!” he mocked.

She snapped her teeth, eyes flashing gold as she snarled in a much more feral manner this time. “I will not disobey my brother in new territory!”

“You ruin all my fun,” Rory declared as he adjusted his sunglasses.

The sound of the card unlocking the hotel door reached their ears. Rory’s fox ears perked up as he turned to look at the door. His tail stood straight out and she could see him bristle as Grane entered their room.

Carrying a . . . .

Bruna perked up. “Is that a cultist?!” she asked very loudly, bouncing on her toes and moving forward as Grane elbowed the door closed behind him. She paused as Grane laid her out on the bed. “Is she okay?”

“I think just unconscious. Bad fall,” Grane declared. The Master looked up, and a glower crossed his face as he saw Rory. “What are you doing here?” Rory didn’t answer. “Wipe that stupid look off your face.”

Bruna turned to see what Grane was talking about, and saw Rory staring at the rabbit eared woman on the bed. The fire fox was completely still, all visible fur bristling as he watched the white individual dressed in blue. He didn’t tear his gaze away.

And Bruna sensed that behind those sunglasses were wide eyes.

“That’s . . . one of the cultists?” Rory asked tentatively.

“If I say yes, will you go back where you came from?”

In an instant, Rory gulped . . . and straightened. His fur flattened, but so did his ears. Bruna could tell all of these actions were forced. He was far from his typical calm self. “One,” he pointed to Grane, “no. And two,” he pointed at the woman on the bed, “definitely no.” He wiped his nose and sniffed loudly, as if catching a distasteful scent. “If that’s what this cult has to offer,” he gestured to the entirety of the woman lying on the bed, “no wonder ye olden Murican Pups were screwed.”

That piqued Grane’s interest. He folded his arms across his broad chest. “And why is that now?”

“A, those are underworld summons branded onto her body. I don’t know about you, but that stuff belongs in a Necronomicon. Not branded into skin. B,” he actually shuddered, full bodied like he was freezing over at the thought, “she’s got Ancient in her. And Ancients . . . don’t touch those. Ever.” His teeth clicked once before he was gesturing towards the door. “Your turn. Take her back where you found her.”

Bruna jumped on that notion. “No! She’s clearly—”

“Trust me! Put that thing back where it came from—”

“No.” It was Grane’s firm answer that made the room go silent. “She stays. If you do not like it, you leave. She is unwell. We will show her proper hospitality.”

Bruna beamed at her brother, but couldn’t help but hear the darkness in Rory’s tone as he uttered, “Suit yourself.”

\--

The first thing Lola felt upon waking was a splitting headache. The next thing was her mouth moving to form the last name she had been calling out for. Then came the pain of a broken ankle. Finally . . . the last thing she expected to feel . . . was a bed.

A soft bed.

Her eyes opened slowly, and she flinched at the lights in the unfamiliar room. When unfamiliar voices were added, she tensed up immediately. “Do not strain,” a deep male voice said.

“Can you hear us?” She nodded. The second voice was gruff, but decidedly feminine. That voice didn’t grate on her ears, which were pinned to her head, as much. “What’s your name?”

“Not so fast, Bruna. She hit her head.”

“L-Lola.”

The woman let out . . . a yip? It was . . . a noise she remembered Tea making. That noise sounded threatening on the tongue of anyone other than the giant. She felt her skin sprouting goosebumps as her hair stood on end. “You’ve been hurt. Is there somewhere we can carry you?”

“A hospital,” jested (it was a jest, right?) a third voice. It was lighter than the first, but masculine still.

“Who,” Lola began, “who are you?”

“We are Puppeteers, Lola.”

Her eyes shot open. Her head was pounding, but that didn’t stop her from launching into an upright position. Her ankle was broken, but that didn’t stop her from bounding for the door.

The . . . creature that caught her around the waist . . . .

She let out a rabbit squeal at the very sight of fox ears.

“Let her go!” the one other feminine voice in the room declared. Lola glanced about and saw golden eyes.

Wolf eyes.

“Give her to me, she will hurt herself further.” The fox man struggled to hold onto her, but soon she was passed into the arms of a tall, burly man.

The human.

The Master.

Another squeal as she was lifted off the ground. “Listen please!” pleaded the girl.

But Lola was already begging, “Put me down!” over and over again.

Until the Master set her on the bed. She froze there, heart beating rapidly, ears flat, and eyes wide as she stared at the surrounding people in frozen terror.

The human, wolf girl, and fox man stood on each side of the bed. She was surrounded.

By . . . predators and Puppeteers.

“Now Miss Lola,” the fox man declared. She eyed him as he spoke. His fur was standing. Was he going to strike? “We are simply here to help.”

“You were lying in the woods unconscious,” her eyes darted to the human. “I did not want to leave you there unprotected.”

“There’s no need to be afraid,” now she stared at the girl. “We just want to help.”

“Is there someone or somewhere we can carry you where you will feel safer?” the human asked.

Lola didn’t know how to respond. Her throat closed. She tried to think, but even her mind seemed frozen. The one thing that shook her out of her horror was that she didn’t feel any other source of pain aside from the raging headache that was the concussion or the destroyed ankle.

Meaning there was no fresh brand on her body.

That was enough to shake her throat open. Enough to get her questioning. Her heart still hammered and she was still breathing rapidly, but she was now able to speak. 

And so she did.

The first question out of her mouth, “What chapter?”

“European,” answered the Master.

Tea had said that was a trustworthy chapter. Mostly. She heaved a breath before asking, “Names?”

“Grane.”

“Bruna.”

“Not important,” said the fox. She stared him down, and got the feeling the others were too judging by him relenting, “Rory. Not a Pup, but a friend.”

No friend of hers, Lola thought. Finally she asked, “Time?”

“Past noon,” Bruna answered. Lola thought carefully. Tea would be at the shop, but . . . could she trust them to take her there? What choice did she have? She trembled slightly. She was afraid to but . . ., “You have little reason to trust us, we realize,” Bruna began. “But I promise you,” she held up her wrist, exposing her rather . . . gentle brand for Lola to see, “we mean you no harm. Let us help you.”

“As much as you will permit us,” Grane said.

Lola remained frozen. Surrounded by a fox, a wolf, and a Puppeteer, she could do little else than stare in fear. But . . . .

They simply stared back.

They’d given her no reason to trust them . . . but they had also given her no other discernible reason to fear them.

Her mouth was moving before her body was ready. “Candle Shop. Please.”

The three exchanged looks. She then watched carefully how they would interact with one another, and learned rather quickly . . . .

That she appreciated Grane. “Stay put,” he ordered his beast.

Bruna scoffed. “But why?”

“Because you’ll be safe here.” He then turned his gaze upon Rory. “Especially with you watching over her, am I correct?” he asked pointedly.

To which Rory responded with a shrug. “Whatever.”

Lola’s head spun as she was scooped up, Grane barking the order, “Don’t endanger her, fox.”

“I would never.”

“Wait,” Bruna ducked around the two, then reappeared again with a hooded jacket and fuzzy slippers. “This’ll hide the ears and feet. So it won’t look weird in public.”

The gesture was strangely kind to Lola. As she was bundled up and carried outside, she glanced over her shoulder at the two beasts left behind.

And somehow . . . she managed to convince herself that trusting them wasn’t a mistake.

\--

Rory watched Grane carry Lola away. Rory had already decided that if his two companions decided to return to Europe, he was going to stay behind.

He didn’t like what he sensed in Lola. Not one bit.


	9. Back to Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tea returns to work after a summer long hiatus and makes some amends (and then breaks them).

Tea took a deep breath. The last time he’d carried a box of candles into the shop, he had had a major meltdown. He wasn’t a hundred percent at his best right now but . . . he was ten times better than he had been that day.

He wasn’t seeing everything clearly yet, but things weren’t quite as blurred.

Lola checked in with him. As did Yin. It was almost easy, how he went right back to routine. He’d taken the necessary time off to get himself back in order, to check on those still around and still with him. He’d taken care of himself the best way he had known how at the time.

He was getting there. Slowly but surely, he was getting there.

Customers came and went. He had open discussions with the staff, making jokes with Lola and assuring her he wasn’t going to snap. He honestly appreciated her concern for him.

He could see her tensing as soon as a familiar dark blonde stepped into the shop, door ringing as he entered.

Sasha moved to him all but immediately, Tea ignoring the two men who followed the Russian Grand Editor in in favor of staring at the man who had shot a demon over him. Tea had been afraid to ask Lola what all had happened to make Sasha stay by his side for a night or two, relying solely on his own shaky memory. He remembered very little of the conversation he and Sasha had had . . . but he knew . . . .

Sasha could have easily taken him that day and he hadn’t. Instead . . . he had kept him safe. Kept him safe until Lola had completely taken over. It didn’t really matter Tea wasn’t in any real danger. There were plenty of Puppeteers who would have taken something they wanted simply because they were vulnerable at the moment.

Sasha hadn’t.

And Tea distinctly remembered that the last time he’d seen Sasha in this edifice, he had treated him cruelly. Even though Tea still wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about the man standing before him and currently asking, “How are you today, lapochka?” he knew that . . . he could be worse. He could most definitely be worse to Tea. “You are looking better.”

The words were careful. Even without the underlying current of emotion Tea could feel in those with hearts, he knew that Sasha was choosing his words carefully. Head lowered but eyes on Sasha’s face, he watched. Swallowing hard, he elected to do something he had honestly never done for a heartless Puppeteer.

“Thank you.” He took a deep breath. “And . . . I apologize.” His eyes darted to the box of candles by his hands, then back up to Sasha’s face. “For the way I behaved the last time we um . . . . I’m sorry for yelling.” Tea shook his head. “You didn’t do anything to deserve that.”

Sasha’s face was blank for several seconds, and Tea swore he could just see the full gambit of emotion passing over the man’s face before finally settling on . . . .

Elation.

Suddenly, the charm that had originally sickened Tea returned full force. “Apology accepted, lapochka.” Sasha took Tea’s gloved hand then.

“Oh, um,” Tea flushed a deep purple as Sasha kissed the top of his hand, “that wasn’t nece—”

“Perhaps you would like to take me up on that offer of tea later?” His voice was sultry.

And Tea went right back to square one with Sasha in his mind. Pulling his palm free, he said, “Yeah, I’m gonna need more time to consider that.”

Sasha lit up. “But you are considering.”

“Don’t push it.” Tea walked away, carrying his box of candles with him. Sasha started to follow him, only for Lola to halt him and take over distracting the Russian. Rounding a corner, Tea started to shelve the candles.

And came face to face with a much shorter, South American man leaning casually on a display case watching him. “Hello,” the man murmured in a most seductive tone. Tea hadn’t thought it possible, but he turned even purpler. “What is a fine specimen such as yourself doing in a dusty coffin such as this?”

Tea noticed the heartlessness almost immediately, then recalled the man’s face just as quickly. He was short next to him, therefore he remembered seeing him at that meeting decades ago.

The South American Official Puppet Master was flirting with him now and Tea’s only response was, “This did not just happen.”


	10. A Fox Appears: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rory decides to go check up on Lola and it does not go well.

His ears flattened against his head as the doorbell very loudly announced his presence. Glancing around the small shop, he caught sight of some familiar faces. Familiar Puppeteer faces.

He had desperately tried to forget his runins with these particular fellows. They didn't seem to take the words, “No, I'm not interested in dong,” as a good enough reason not to engage. 

Apparently they had the same attitude towards the poor man behind the counter, only he was . . . purple? Oh dear Lord, he must be choking. Weren't they the least bit concerned? Oh good, that's just his face.

Rory sighed in relief as his ears stood. He took a whiff of the air, trying to catch the scent of the woman he'd brought here a short time ago. It didn't take him very long to find her.

She was very clearly announcing her presence by waving a broom at the Puppeteers like they were vermin. “Get out! Store's closing for lunch!”

“Perhaps we could treat you for—,” the tallest began, only to have the broom swat him in the face.

“Shut up and get out!”

“Docinho—,” another started to coo.

“No potatoes, no bananas, no nothing from any of you! Out!” Rory stepped to the side, hiding behind a shelf of candles as she ushered all three men out of the Candle Shop. Once they were out, he stared at the purple faced man behind the counter and had the sudden desire to apologize to him. After locking the door, the rabbit eared woman let out a heavy sigh and propped the broom against the door. Heading back towards the giant, she declared in a huff, “I'm legitimately starving.”

“I can imagine.” 

“Don't they have anything better to do? Like . . . run their damn chapters?” Lola asked as she hopped up on the counter to sit.

The taller pulled a lunch box out and handed it to her, and Rory watched through the shelf as she began popping whole, unpeeled fruits into her mouth. “Sasha has always been a loose cannon, doesn’t function sensibly without proper direction. Same with Floresta. Malta I'm surprised at, he’s usually got a grip on . . . things.”

“That you know this truly scares me.” That she was eating like a rabbit but smelled like an Ancient truly scared Rory. “And you realize you called Zarkhov by his first name, right?”

A loud sigh. “I did. Fuck.”

Rory poked his ear and eye around the corner of the shelf, body steadily following as he began slipping closer. They didn't notice him it seemed.

Until he opened his stupid mouth that is.

“No carrots?” Rory murmured.

And they heard him. By God did they hear him.

Two heads whipped towards him, both startled at first but then one utterly infuriated. He heard a hiss culminating in Lola's throat just as the giant declared almost worriedly in Rory's direction, “Not the ‘c’ word.”

Lola grew angrier and her fur began to . . . poof. That was the only word that came to mind. Rory bristled and pointed to the door. “I'll see myself out thanks.”

That encounter with Lola could have gone better to say the least.


	11. A Fox Appears: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rory returns to the Candle Shop to apologize.

“Take her a different snack as an apology,” Bruna had said. “It’ll be fun,” she had said.

But in situations like these, it actually did pay to listen to the cooped up Mara. She did know how to apologize and make her Master forgive her and see that she had never meant any harm in taking a small trip with Rory. That only happened back at home, and she never went far enough away for Grane to have the truest of aneurysms. Here she was more hesitant. New territory, different chapter than she had been raised in, entirely different culture. It would be more than awkward if she were trapped out in Eventide’s woods without the berserker by her side.

So with a small lunch bag he entered the Candle Shop. He probably shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was when he stepped in and was greeted with, “I told you get out!” He stopped, ears pinning flat against his head as Lola then peered around the corner and stared straight at him. Her glare could have burned a hole in his head if it hadn’t immediately diminished with her tune. “Oh. It’s just you,” she said with a little less spite, but still a noticeable amount.

Rory reached up and adjusted his sunglasses before the kneejerk question popped out of his mouth. “Are those heartless fellows really bothering you every damn day?” He looked about the shop. “And where’s your tall friend?”

“Just about! And he’s off today.” Lola sighed and stepped from around the corner towards the counter. His eyebrows slowly raised and his back went stiff as she walked. Just this brief window before the lower half of her body was out of sight allowed him the opportunity to see what she was wearing. That wouldn’t have mattered quite as much had the outfit not so blatantly shown off the curves of her body. The shirt and skirt she wore not only allowed him a view of her toned and marked midriff, but also gave the world the pleasure of leaving very little to the imagination of just how . . . shapely she was. He averted his eyes before redness could creep onto his cheeks and listened with ears standing full at attention towards her as she rounded the corner of the checkout desk. “What’s the matter, miss the opportunity to gawk at him?”

How on earth could anyone gawk at her friend when she was in the same room? “Is he really the one attracting all the attention?”

Her ears drooped and her glare returned, but it wasn’t directed at him. “Half and half.” Those percentages seemed off to him, but he decided not to argue. “Anyways,” she took a deep breath and her ears stood back up, “what do you want? I doubt it’s candles.”

He cleared his throat, swallowing the lump that had started to form at the thought of her very, very revealing clothing. “Well, you see, when Bruna—”

“Tell her I’m fine. Grane already checked on me.”

He growled slightly. “No no. I came here to . . . at her suggestion . . . apologize?” Why was he suddenly unsure? He knew exactly why he was here, right?

“Why?” She lifted an eyebrow and he could see her bristling. He supposed she had a right to suspicion.

“For the um . . . ‘c’ word.” Maybe she didn’t remember. That would almost be too easy. It was too easy. Her ears pinned and she already had a hiss forming. “Sorry!” he held up his hand, started approaching slowly. She didn’t actually hiss at him, which he took as a good thing. Still, he was hesitant to clear more than half the distance between them. “I am sorry. I was unaware that carrots were exactly offensive.”

“You try listening to rabbit-carrot jokes for the past two hundred years and see how you feel about it, okay there Copper?!”

Oh that was rich. His ears pinned again at the Disney themed nickname and so he retorted in kind. “Alright there Thumper,” she hissed at him and her hair puffed up, and listen to that, he could actually hear the telltale thump thump thump of her foot, “I came here to apologize. And that’s what I’m going to do.” Stepping forward despite her display, he dropped the lunch bag on the counter. “I brought you a treat.” He glared behind the glasses. “And it’s not carrots.”

“Look here you furry f—”

“Look who’s talking.”

“Shut it!” Lola held up a clawed finger at him, “If I have to put up with one more asshole coming in here to harass me or Tea, I’m gonna . . . ,” her nostrils flared and she trailed off. For a moment her defenses dropped and she lost some of her edge. She regained it and began again, “I’m gonna . . . ,” and then lost it, nostrils flaring again. She stopped, dropping her demeanor entirely before looking down at the bag set in front of her. She stared at it, its top slightly parted so she could see inside. “Are those . . . strawberries?” He didn’t answer. Before he even could she was yanking the bag open and looking them over.

He could almost sense her mouth watering at the berries he had purchased before coming to the shop.

“So . . . am I forgiven?”

There was a pause. Then she looked up at him. She seemed to be almost in shock, but her ears moved as she was thinking. At least, that’s what he imagined was the reason for the activity of her ears. After a long while, she declared, “If you give me a break today and maybe come back tomorrow, yeah. Apology accepted.”

He thought to ask if it was because of all the attention she received from the other males frequenting the shop that she even needed to ask for space. For once, his tongue didn’t run away with his mouth. This time, he took his opportunity to make a good impression and left her with the bag of fruits. 

He listened to her bite into one of the berries and chew just before closing the door.


	12. A Fox Appears: Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rory sets a date.

“You actually came back.”

“Is that not what you told me to do?” He still had yet to address her Ancient blood. Of course he was going to return. This time, he offered her a peach as a peace offering.

Lola took it with a chirp and the wiggling of her ears and bit into it. She watched Rory with three eyes that lacked the previous annoyed slant he had encountered. He supposed that was a good thing. Looking her over, he saw that she was wearing a similarly revealing sundress. Grinding his teeth he fought hard to stare at only her face.

As she finished up the peach, setting the pit on the counter she was thankfully standing behind before flicking it across the flat surface with her claws, she asked, “So I don't see you gawking at anyone like Things One, Two, and Three,” he let out a sound of amusement at the reference to the Puppeteers that frequented here, “so why the interest?” She plucked the pit into the trashcan then, then waved a hand nonchalantly, “I mean, you can't be just checking on me for Bruna’s sake.” No, Grane was taking care of that Rory presumed.

Rory took a deep breath. Now they were finally getting to the conversation he had prepared for. “I'm just a little curious is all.”

“Bout what?” she asked, leaning on the counter and oh dear her upper arms framed her chest so suggestively. Did she show off like this on purpose? What's a man to do? “Gonna study the cult? Gonna study me? What is it?”

Averting his gaze and again tunneling his vision on her face, he cleared his throat. “I . . .,” why , “well . . .,” why was it that whenever he saw her he forgot everything he had wanted to say? Fumbling for a conversation topic, he gestured around the shop, “Isn't it strange that no one ever seems to be in here? No customers or anything?”

She quirked an eyebrow, as if sensing he was changing the subject. “Well ever since a unicorn decided to uproot the forest people have been hesitant to do business with cultists.”

“I get the feeling that's not sarcasm.” She shook her head. He noted that: don't piss off the local unicorn. Clearing his throat yet again, he elected to stare at the counter as he asked, “What sort of . . . Ancient are you?” Only after he had asked did he look up.

And suspicion was written all across her face. Neither moved, Lola pinning him with the once again narrowed glare as he watched her from behind sunglasses. There was a noticeable pause and the lowering of her voice when she asked, “You know Ancients?”

Unfortunately. He did not say that aloud. That may offend. “None like you.”

She rolled her eyes. Then she declared with the flattening of her ears, “There are none like me.”

“Well,” he pointed at her head, “the ears sort of told me that. And the markings—”

“What do you want, okay?” Lola let out an exasperated breath as she straightened and placed her palms flat on the counter. “Just spit it out and stop pointing out,” her eyes darted around the room, “things.”

“Look,” he declared, holding up his hands, “I'm not looking for anything but answers. I've been around a very long time and to be quite honest, seeing something,” admittedly astonishing, “like you . . . it's never happened before. Tends to raise eyebrows.” For many many reasons.

“Well, you look,” her claws tapped the counter rapidly as she scowled up at him. “I don't tell random foxes—”

“Fire fox—”

“—internet browsers, whatever, my tragic life story. Capiche?”

His own ears flattened, not only at her insult but at the bitterness in her tone. “I'm supposing you didn't agree to this form.”

Another eye roll. “Did you agree to yours?” It was his turn to lift an eyebrow. “Yeah, I know what you're supposed,” she used air quotes to frame the last word, “to look like. It's not that,” she made a sweeping motion at his body. Then she continued, “If you're going to ask me personal questions like that, then either be willing to share too or get out.”

Rory was stumped, staring at her with an entirely new context given to her existence. He pondered, watching her ears twist and turn towards various sounds as he did so. There were many ways he could take this, as he was not keen on sharing anything about his own relation to Ancients until he knew hers. This situation just seemed . . . peculiar to him. He had a feeling that the more he knew, the deeper he'd want to dive in and solve.

He felt like he was standing before an ocean. Perhaps even space itself. Lola seemed more and more vast each time he spoke with her.

Which led him to a conclusion. “I am uncomfortable continuing to meet you on the clock. Perhaps we could come to an accord over lunch or dinner on a day you are off?”

“You're asking me on a date?” She seemed taken aback by this, or at the very least put off. Those pushy clowns must have assailed her with the same request numerous times, he thought.

So he offered her a choice instead. “Date. Meeting. Whichever term you would prefer. I'm more of a casual fellow myself.”

“I can see that.” And then it was Lola pondering. He waited patiently for a verdict, shoving his hands into his pockets before she offered at long last, “Meet me at the Third Jackal at eight Friday?”

He couldn't help the smile he shared at the location. He liked a good pub. “If this were a date, you'd be my kinda woman.” She scoffed. “I will meet you there then.” She nodded.

He departed with his small victory.


	13. Objects of Study

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniel Malta and Keoma Floresta have two subjects on their tables that they have been longing to look at for a while now.

To know a beast’s physicality and origins was to understand it. To understand it was to have power over it. While Daniel and Keoma were not interested in that power, they were interested in study. Data. Could they learn something new? Could they find new ingredients for their poisons? Their antidotes? Could they create new medicines from a substance? Could they learn something never before recorded about a beast?

These seemed innocent enough pursuits compared to the sometimes brutal experimentation done by the Warden of the Australian chapter. Knowledge was a power Daniel and Keoma admired. Knowledge was their reason for following Sasha Zarkhov to the Candle Cult. Knowledge was their reason for getting close to the townsfolk and beasts they desperately wanted to learn from.

Knowledge was the reason they currently had beasts on their tables.

“You are the most unprofessional—”

“You cannot complain but so much. They are both here aren’t they?”

“I at least asked to study him first.” Then he’d stuck the needle into Tea’s neck. Keoma had waited until Lola was putty in his hands, whispering and seducing and enticing her. Then, out of nowhere, she had been partially sedated.

Now they lay on the tables set up in their makeshift lab, in a room in their rental. They were due to come to soon, and when they did Daniel had the next round of drug ready. “We don’t know how they’ll react,” he continued in Portuguese as he moved towards a trunk where he had stored a fourth of his supplies. Pulling out straps and buckles, he offered them to Keoma and declared, “They may try to run.”

Keoma scoffed at the suggestion to strap them down. “She is small.” Before Daniel could argue with him, Keoma’s face bloomed with realization. “But we do not know what she is.” At that, he took the straps and they proceeded to secure Tea and Lola to the tables. A strap across the upper arms and chest, another across the elbows and ribcage, another across the wrists and hips, and two last straps above and below the knees. Daniel set a pair of straps at the head of the table, in the event that their heads needed to be secured. Once the pair of beasts were ready they removed their gloves again and re-gloved, disinfecting their hands and forearms as they went. Keoma wheeled tables of tools, beakers, and syringes to each of them as Daniel waited for Tea and Lola to awaken. “Have you started the recorder?” Keoma asked.

In one fell swoop, Daniel picked up a pencil and used the eraser end to press and button and do just that. Then he started speaking clearly, “Subject one, hybrid, half human half skinwalker. Former beast of Liam Evermine, former Puppet Master of North America.”

Keoma then declared, also clearly, “Subject two, hybrid. Dichotomy unknown. Origins unknown.”

Tea stirred on the table, eyes rolling behind his head. Daniel readied the syringe. “Subject one is coming to.” Tea’s head started turning, the half skinwalker stiffening as soon as Daniel placed his hand on his forehead. “Administering drug.” The needle pierced Tea’s neck once again, and a canine whimper passed through his lips.

As the liquid entered Tea’s vein, Keoma declared, “Subject two coming to as well. Administering drug.” Keoma proceeded in the same fashion as the Puppet Master, but unlike Daniel the Grand Editor then proceeded to pet Lola’s furred neck and shush her. As soon as the pair were drugged they went limp on the tables, the only difference being they were still conscious at this point. Conscious and whimpering. Keoma murmured sweet nothings to Lola, who in her weak state was having difficulty struggling against the binds. “Docinho, it is alright,” he said in English.

Then he broke one of Daniel’s cardinal rules by leaning down and kissing her cheek. “Play later,” Daniel ordered. “Study now.”

“Her little chest is fluttering,” Keoma protested.

Daniel noted that while that was indeed true (Lola’s breathing was certainly elevated and shallow), he still did not believe Keoma was being as professional as he should be in this situation. Then again, Daniel was lucky he had at least convinced the man to tie his hair up. Putting a mask on however? He had blatantly refused. “Do what you must. But be respectful to the others in your presence.” And don’t blatantly molest Lola while Tea was here to hear her panic. “Are you certain the subjects should be kept in the same room?” While he’d like to ensure Keoma continued to remain professional (as professional as Keoma could be), he also didn’t want to risk Tea and Lola possibly egging each other’s panic along. Tea was fine now. His breathing was also elevated, but not to the extent of Lola’s. Tea was, however, strong enough to truly make the straps creak and give from his attempted movements.

“They are close,” Keoma said.

“That’s why I ask.”

“Close enough to call to one another should they be separated.” 

“True,” Daniel conceded. The two calling for one another could cause chaos. He only wanted so much chaos during this tender time. Daniel absently stared down at Tea as the giant of a beast adjusted to his situation. He looked like he was about to start thrashing his head, so Daniel caught his face between his hands and proceeded to calmly massage the giant’s temples. Once he had Tea still, he lost focus on what Keoma was doing and started narrating his own actions. He described Tea’s physical features, listing off hair color and texture. Then he moved onto eye color and other descriptors. He saved scars and obvious features for last as Keoma repeated the process for Lola in his own slow fashion.

Tea was thoroughly decorated in tattoos in much the same way as Lola was covered in brands. And they were essentially brands, not tattoos, complete with raised skin and sensitivity. He glanced over at Keoma as he listed off the feel of each brand, taking interest as well as ensuring that his running his fingers along the nude Lola’s body didn’t turn into anything that may be perceived as sinister by the heavily breathing subject.

Part way through describing the brands, Keoma stopped, then looked up at Daniel with wide eyes. “They are summons,” he murmured in astonishment. Keoma returned his gaze to Lola’s body, leaning closer and with more interest and amazement. “Summons!”

As Keoma marveled, Daniel warned, “Don’t do anything to enact them.” Then he started describing Tea’s markings. He didn’t trace them with his fingers the way Keoma did, simply described them. As he listed off the number of places they were it, he wondered if they had always been on the body of the half skinwalker. He did not recall ever having fully glimpsed the face of Liam’s beast. “Perhaps these are markings of the breed.”

“No,” Keoma declared. Daniel looked up at him. “Skinwalkers do not have stripes.”

“Tribal?” Keoma held up his arm to show Daniel what his tribal markings looked like. Daniel hummed. True, South America wasn’t as different from North America as to warrant vastly differing tribal markings. But they were still different.

Snapping their fingers by the subjects’ ears, they found the both of them to be incredibly sensitive. Lola’s especially. Keoma spent a great deal more time touching and inspecting her long, rabbit-like ears than Daniel thought necessary.

Then Keoma stopped. “There are traces of a brand.” As Keoma inspected it, Daniel ran his fingers over Tea’s own brand. It was grossly obviously on the side of his neck, with one of the black marks cutting through it. Daniel’s nose wrinkled in disgust at the crudeness in the brand. It was perhaps one of the worst he had seen, and he assumed that it had been outrageously painful for the beast to wake up to. He pitied Tea, not quite thinking of what he was doing before he scratched the top of Tea’s head. The half skinwalker closed his eyes and Daniel was glad of the mask on his face. Keoma didn’t need to see him smile at the blonde creature’s reaction.

“Proceed with an incision in the arm,” Daniel declared. While they waited for the cut to determine whether or not the pair had regenerative healing, they would check their teeth for venom.

Keoma and Daniel picked up scalpels, both choosing spots on the arms that were unmarked. “Making an incision,” Keoma and Daniel declared simultaneously as they placed a scalpel against the inside of Tea’s and Lola’s arms and dragged the blades.

It was Daniel’s turn for his eyes to go wide. “Subject one has black blood.” He stopped, utterly bemused. Keeping a mind as clear of excitement as possible, he set aside the scalpel and moved to open one of Tea’s eyes. Black vessels. How had he not noticed them earlier while talking to the beast? When Tea’s cheeks were tinted purple, he had thought the other was choking. Now he saw that he had been flustering. Pulling Tea’s lips open, he stared at his gums and tongue once again. Black. Black and purple. How? How had he not noticed? “Are—?”

“Must be an external influence. Skinwalkers do not have black blood,” Keoma clarified for him.

External influence. These creatures, from what they had learned, gave their souls in exchange for . . . something to a much older, more powerful creature. Perhaps that was the external influence. But that also implied . . . .

These were not tattoos littering Tea’s body.

“What was previously believed to be tattoos on subject number one may in fact be scars,” Daniel said. It was Keoma’s turn to glance at the Puppet Master with concern. In mere moments though, Daniel had dropped the realization and proceeded with his tests.

While neither turned out to be venomous, both subjects displayed regenerative traits. Collecting blood samples, they continued testing for reaction before giving a physical. Both were healthy. Blood pressure and heartrate were fast, but that was understandable Daniel thought. 

“They’re beautiful,” Keoma and Daniel agreed in unison. As they continued to examine, Daniel prepared to end the recording. He was eager to get back to his room and start taking notes on what he’d learned of Tea. And he could also focus more on what Keoma was actually saying of his own subject.

Just as he was about to hit the button on the recorder, Keoma stopped him. “One last test.” He picked up a vial of liquid Daniel did not have on his own table. “Reaction to topical ointment sample fifteen.” Keoma had developed this ointment to test for reaction to magic, or to induce magic.

Daniel tensed. “If those are summons—”

“I will not put it on the summons.”

“Still. I would rather you try for subject one first.”

Keoma nodded. “Ready a sedative.” Daniel did so. Holding a syringe aloft, Keoma tilted the vial over Tea’s forehead. “Reaction to ointment, subject one.” A drop fell on Tea’s head. At first, there was nothing. Rubbing the drop into his skin, Keoma and Daniel watched with interest.

Then Daniel caught the faint glow of gold under Tea’s eyelids. Lifting one eye open slightly, it revealed, “Irises aglow.”

“Subject one’s magic has been untapped.”

“Explain?” Daniel asked.

Keoma obliged, “Skinwalkers are, in a sense, witches. They have the ability to shape shift, and have a natural inclination towards conjuration, poisoning, and sometimes summoning.”

“Witch doctors.” Like them. “His magic is untapped?” Keoma nodded. “Is there a way to—?”

“You do not want that,” Keoma quickly stopped him. “A skinwalker on the Witchery Way is, for lack of better terminology, less human and more animal. To get him to the point where he has access to the magic, he would have to have committed a crime offensive enough to get on the path. He would need to continue committing similar crimes in order to pursue the path.”

“What sort of crime?”

“Murdering, defiling, or otherwise dishonoring a family member or loved one.”

Daniel could not see this particular half skinwalker committing any of those crimes. But still, he had to ask. “Can you tell if he’s on the path?”

Keoma shook his head. “He would have reacted more than this, I believe. If he were far along the path. And he certainly wouldn’t be able to converse with you.”

That was somewhat reassuring. “Now for subject two.”

Keoma nodded, then performed the same action with Lola. Her reaction was more immediate: all of her markings started to glow. Keoma stared in bemusement, Daniel still holding the syringe aloft in the event more happened. He was wary. He hoped this did not enact the summons or else they would—

She had a third eye.

It opened on her forehead, and with it both of her other eyes. They all opened wide and she.

Screamed.

Keoma fell across the small beast’s body, holding her down as she started to arch against the straps and twist on the table. “Sedate! Sedate!” he cried over her screams. He held her head still as Daniel rushed forward. “Docinho no. Docinho—”

“She’s not listening right now,” Daniel declared sharply, jabbing the needle into her neck. She let out a piercing shriek at that, tears spilling from her eyes as she writhed under Keoma. The sedative was fast acting, but not fast enough it seemed. She continued to scream for the next few minutes.

And Daniel was immediately rushing to fill another syringe full of sedative, as Tea had started growling and writhing in response to Lola’s panic.

As Lola settled back down into sleep, markings still glowing, Keoma moved to hold Tea still. He had to strap his head down so they didn’t get bitten, and that was a struggle in and of itself. The sound of Tea’s jaws slamming shut repeatedly was chilling, and his snarls were gut wrenching. In an additional bid to keep them both safe from Tea’s jaws, Keoma had taken the second leather strap and shoved it between Tea’s teeth. When both were finally sedated and still, the two relaxed.

Keoma let out a harsh exhale, removing a glove and saying, “End of session,” before stopping the recorder.

“That could have been worse,” Daniel decided.

Keoma tilted his head in agreement, eyebrows raised. “Could have lost a finger.”

“They could have gotten loose.” Or . . . Daniel stopped. He went still. “Tell no one of this.”

Keoma’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

Daniel pointed to Lola. “Do you know what she is yet?” When Keoma didn’t answer, he continued. “Keep your notes to yourself. The fewer who know we’re studying her, the less likely she is to accrue interest.” Keoma thought about it, then nodded in agreement. “And,” Daniel ran his fingers through Tea’s hair almost affectionately, “his prospected owner wouldn’t take kindly to this.” Keoma also agreed. They weren’t interested in getting shot, even over a creature as rare as the half skinwalker. That was exactly what would happen if Sasha Zharkov knew they had possibly caused the beast he was fond of (and the one Daniel was steadily growing more fond of) undue amounts of stress. “Let’s get them cleaned up and dressed.”

“Yes.”

“And back in their rooms.” That won Daniel a massive pout from Keoma. “Fine, do what you wish. But Tea needs—”

“He lives amongst many others. You cannot sneak him in without being noticed.”

This was true. After another few moments of pondering what to do with the half skinwalker, Daniel sighed reluctantly. “Alright. We’ll keep them for the night.”

He was sure he’d never seen Keoma so excited before.


End file.
